Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

As the sun bore down upon the Iyr, he finally arrived. Settled within the centre of the Front Iyr, many familiar faces, but unfamiliar in this frontier town known as the Front Iyr, and yet, many of their faces were familiar to he, the Mad Dog, for how many of them had stepped out at the same time as him? How many had he exchanged steel with upon his journey?

None he would have thought to slaughter, that much was for certain, for they were born of blood and steel too.

A few Iyrmen stared towards the figure, adorned within the Iyr’s clothing, and they noted the newly forged axe at his side, and the straps which revealed he wore a shield upon his back, but it was not his clothing, not his steel, but his eyes, they paid keen attention to. It has been almost two decades ago when they said the Mad Dog had died.

It was then, on that day, some of them had been within the Iyr, others upon their journey, when the Mad Dog had stepped out of the Iyr, and when he had returned with only one arm. His brothers who had gone out with him for vengeance had died, and he had returned with the bones of his son and daughter, and the bones of his grandson, Churot, which had all but confirmed the Azure Terror’s execution, for it was not he, it would have been the Iyr itself.

Everyone had said it on the day of his return.

The Mad Dog had died.

He was still a vicious bastard, without a doubt, but he had died that day.

He was not the same Jarot, not the same Mad Dog, who they had known their entire lives.

Today, under the sun, they could see it, within his eyes, the same look of a vicious beast which once had claimed the lives of so many nobles, for it was said the Mad Dog was the foremost cause of death for most nobles during his time out, beyond disease, war, and even the luxury of old age.

The Mad Dog’s fangs had long dulled, but they could feel the aura emanating from him, and so those who had come to confirm the matter stepped forward to greet him.

“It is good to see you again,” Crimson River Sword said. He was tall, strong, his body littered in scars, many which the Mad Dog had gifted to him during their youth, his skin a deep red, his horns long damaged from years of battle, his forehead tattooed with a purple hollow circle flanked by green diamonds. The old Iyrman was adorned in the Iyr’s attire, a lighter grey, and he wore a shield on his back, though it was the blade he reached for. It was long and thin, forged of bloodsteel, enchanted with a most vicious enchantment, and though it was not the legendary blade of his family, it had been the blade which had slain a great many foes, and had been one of the closest to take an eye from the Mad Dog himself. “When you leave, it would honour me if one of yours wielded my blade.”

“We of the Rot use axe and shield,” the old man growled back, though he accepted it, and with that, Crimson River Sword stepped away. “You will not stay?”

“I merely came to confirm the matter,” Crimson River Sword replied, and with that, the crazy bastard left the crazy bastard alone.

Others also greeted the Mad Dog in a similar manner, though not quite as daring. Almost all those who had come had either brought their own weapons, each equivalent to the Crimson River Sword’s own weapon, while others who did not possess such grand weapons individually brought other weapons from their family’s vaults, while a few had even brought their specific family’s ancestral weapon, leaving them within the Rot family’s care, each within chained boxes, for there were not only Iyrmen within the Front Iyr.

Those weapons, each which would be among the greatest of treasures within a dragon’s hoard, lay to one side, as though they were but trinkets as the Mad Dog spoke with a great many figures. Many of the great many figures who held a legendary name like himself, others who were Family Elders, and others who were of his generation but had reached the height of an Expert and remained to farm, labour, and teach within their precious lands.

A small army of old legends gathered within the centre of the Iyr, some peeking towards them from afar, other Iyrmen, and those who were not, and even Bael looked on from afar, certain a large number of them would be a good fight, though he remained laying on the roof, listening in on their conversations from afar.

“You brat, since your grandfather remained behind, you should step out and claim glory for your family!” the old Mad Dog complained, though he reached up to rub the young woman’s head.

“The old man will not allow me to stop out!” the young woman complained. “It is the best time now! Once I slay a Reaver, who can claim that my family is weak?”

“I will be sure to slay one or two as a gift to you,” Mad Dog assured, while the young woman reached out and clasped his forearm, and though she wished to tease her grandfather, it was awkward since he was so kind to her, so she decided to show him mercy, just this once.

“It was just my misfortune that I grew up at the same time as the likes of all of you,” the old Iyrman replied, chuckling lightly.

“To think your heart is so soft! How are you related to the Twin Sun and Moon Dragons when you behave like this? Is it because they coddled you?” The old man huffed, though as he thought of his own greatchildren, he considered how the Twin Sun and Moon Dragons were so like his Jirot, and so was Marabak, and then there was this fool who was so like his little Jarot. ‘Why are all the girls so vicious?’

The Mad Dog met with a great many legendary figures, as well as the youth who would inherit the mistakes of their generation, having not taught their children well, and thus their grandchildren would need to deal with it.

The hours passed by, and as the sun began to fall, evening threatening to greet them, they said their goodbyes, leaving piles of magical weapons behind for the old man, and made their way out.

As the Iyrmen stored the magical weapons away, the old man did not return, instead exercising lightly, and then after napping, he bathed.

It was when the stars had claimed the sky, dark as death, they met.

The heavily armoured figure had waited for him, adorned in full plate, carrying a blade at his side, a shield upon his back. He had not been asked, nor did the Mad Dog even hint at it, but the pair knew.

‘I should have assumed he would wish to spend the first day and night with his greatchildren,’ Dogek thought, feeling such a fool for his thoughts.

It was that Jarot, after all.

Though he had slain a great many nobles, and had gathered countless enemies, he had returned to the Iyr.

It was not because he ran away from the nobles, not because he was tired of slaughter, but within his heart, perhaps more so than many Iyrmen, he knew of the Iyr. It’s walls. It’s fields. It’s vicious, yet tender touch.

He may have threatened to slay them, but was it not the axe of the Mad Dog in which the Iyr’s justice was meted?

As Dogek stood opposite the Iyrman, who soaked in the chill of the air of the night, he prepared himself, inhaling deeply. Since the Mad Dog had only just returned to the world, like last time, he would not utilise his family’s techniques.

The Mad Dog continued to soak in the cool air, the starlight falling across his skin, and as the seconds turned to minutes, Dogek continued to wait patiently, until, finally, the pair drew their steel.

Dogek, completing duties assigned to him by the Front Iyr Elder, drew his Greater Enhanced longsword, while Jarot drew his Greater Enhanced axe, and the pair wore their shields, though only Jarot wielded a magical shield.

As the ringing of steel filled the air, Dogek recalled their previous fight. He recalled how easily he had defeated the Mad Dog, whose fangs had dulled. He recalled how the old man had been panting, with Dogek barely sweating as he loomed over the crippled Iyrman

That was a little over three years ago.

Three years was quite a long time.

Since then, Dogek had continued his duties to the Iyr, as one might have expected of him.

Jarot, he had moped around a little, but the year after he had drawn his axe, the old man had stepped out with his children. He had fought alongside the Bearded Dragon, against the likes of the Majestic Blade, Gentle Heart, and a handful of Experts, each whom protected a worthless Count. A Master and a pair of Experts each, and for the likes of a crippled Mad Dog, even for himself, it was an impressive feat.

That was only a prelude, for though the children had only been threatened by the Count, the next year…

Who was it the Mad Dog had drawn his axe against?

Vice Commander Esme of the Floral Sun, who he had once took the eye of, but he had granted her wish of the sweet release that was death.

Then, surrounded by the Orders, the Mad Dog had clashed against the likes of Sun Sword Zachary, and they, too, had met previously. Sun Sword was not always the Grand Commander of Floral Sun, for the pair had met in their youth and Jarot had beaten him senseless then. It was that Sun Sword, who should claim the title of Grand Commander of High Garden, the combination of the three Orders which had been expelled from Floria during the civil war, which the Mad Dog had kept at bay with one arm and one leg.

The difference between that Mad Dog and the Mad Dog he had beaten had been almost night and day.

Dogek held his blade in front of him, a Greater Enhanced blade, he stared down at the Mad Dog, who glared at him in return, his own axe ahead of him.

Had his longsword always felt so heavy?

As the pair stood, the seconds passed between them, until finally Jarot let out a long sigh, annoyed, furious, even. The old Mad Dog thought back to when he had faced Dogek’s grandfather. The blade work had been so similar, and yet, even though Dogek had reached the height of a Paragon, the difference between the pair was still evident.

“Did you think you could hold back?” Jarot accused, his eyes sharp, focused, but he placed away his axe, and sauntered off, sweaty, aching, but he was not panting quite as terribly as Dogek.

‘The Mad Dog of today is different than the Mad Dog of yesterday,’ Dogek thought, for Jarot was different from even when he fought against Sun Sword. Though Dogek had held back, it was the Mad Dog who had let him go that day. ‘If I had not taken the initiative…’

Dogek paused.

No.

Even if he hadn’t held back, he was uncertain if he could have claimed victory.

Duteous Dogek, within the span of a minute, had seen the confirmation, at the tip of his blade, of the resurrection of the Mad Dog.

I'm thinking he's back.